Broken
by jackkel dragon
Summary: Merrill is devastated by Hawke's refusal to give her the arulin'holm. Would she be willing to beg Hawke for her link to the elves of Arlathan?  Warning! Description of blood magic and self-maiming.


"How could she be so blind?"

I slammed the front door shut and stormed into my home. The fire had burned out while I was away, and I was out of wood for the week. Books and crumbs and old treasures littered the tables and floor, creating a mess that even Fen'Harel would dread to step in. I stomped around the garbage accumulating on the floor and past my idle amusements into the back room of the house.

There sat my bed, still unmade from earlier in the week. Next to it was a drawer containing a set of spare clothing and some old books. But I wasn't looking at them. I glared at a mirror that stood in the corner. The frame was an old elven design that I had found at a strange market in Darktown, for which I had gladly given up most of my money. At the edges of the mirror, I had begun to fill in the frame with shards of glass that I had found around Kirkwall. At the unfinished center was a piece that I would always remember, as it had taken the lives of two members of my clan.

I growled quietly as I traced the holes yet to be filled in, ignoring the blood that trickled from my fingertips. "That self-important shem thinks she can decide whether I bring back Arlathan. What gives her the right?" I winced as a deep cut began to sting my palm. I half-heartedly focused my mind on a nick in the mirror and muttered a word of power, watching my blood evaporate and the glass twist into a nearly flawless sheet. Piece by piece, it had to be done.

I cursed and sat down on my bed, trying to ignore the rat that scurried off when I approached. I tried to figure why Hawke would keep the arulin'holm from me. Didn't she know how important this was?

It had to be Pol. When she had talked to Marethari, she was willing to help me even if it meant fighting a Varterral. But when Pol ran from me... she started to doubt me. I can still see how she looked at me. Hawke, the fearless one, was afraid of me. She thought I was a monster. Before, she didn't think that Marethari's warnings were necessary, but when she saw one of my own clan run from me... that ended her trust.

I stood up and kicked a book aside. How was I suppossed to complete the mirror now? Hawke had taken the arulin'holm from Marethari. It was probably hidden or destroyed by now. There had to be something I could do to gain her trust again.

Hawke had never been the most caring person when she visited me, but the only others that even came to the alienage were Varric and Isabela. Hawke didn't care much for Isabela, but what about Varric? I noticed that she would go to the Hanged Man just to talk to Varric. She was harsh to him, but she never mistrusted him like she did Isabela. Maybe if Varric suggested that I should have the arulin'holm, Hawke would give it to me.

I looked down at the sheets on my bed, realizing I should make it up before I left again. While I pulled the sheets straight, I wondered if Varric was at the Hanged Man right now. The bed made, I changed into my spare clothing and tried to think of what Varric could say that would convince Hawke. Hawke liked Varric, she had to listen, she had to let me have the arulin'holm! I turned to leave, preparing my plea for Varric. I looked at the mirror with no reflection and asked myself if I was ready to do what Hawke asked of me to regain her trust.

No.

The mirror stared back at me, the shards of glass recalling its past. Broken. Destroyed by a short-sighted shem to end a threat that could have been ended another way. And now I was ready to ask a shem that understood nothing, couldn't even pretend to know of the elvhen and Arlathan, if there was anything I could do for her, to gain her favor for a rusty old knife.

I had a rusty old knife. I pulled it out of its sheath now, slitting my wrist and speaking the words that I had used so often in the past three years. The blood from my arm disappeared in a red haze, and the mirror altered its shape to repair one of the cracks. I cut the other wrist, and the sacrifice filled a hole in the mirror. I thought I saw a momentary glint of reflected light, urging me on. I slit my palm, raising my voice into a chant. Another flaw triumphantly destroyed, another step closer to the flawless glass that the Eluvian should be. Created by elven blood, restored by elven blood. Humans had only oppressed my people, they would never be necessary to restore the glory of Arlathan.

"We are the last of the elvhenan." I intoned as my second palm bled. "Never again shall we submit."


End file.
